GLOS SOL ALIA began in 2006 as instrumental tracks by thee anoma-
lous NPS in Woodland, CA. Raps and skits were written and recorded from
2006-09 i n Areata, CA, then mixed and edited by the Etymologist at the Sher-
wood Cooperative in Seattle, WA from 2009-10. Mastered in 2010 by Virgil
Starkweather Studios in Woodland, CA. We use in-home production and
DIY configurations. The majority of this album was recorded while we were
camping in tents in Nu Roma's backyard -thanks again.
To avoid proliferating useless compact discs, no physical copies of this pro-
duction will be manufactured by us. However, please download free high-
quality MP3's of the album at honorificabilitudinitatibusrecordings.blogspot.
com. Most of this paper, these audio samples, and these lyrical concepts have
been stolen or used without permission. Steal them back.
Anti-copyright: free of propriety; we encourage unrestricted duplication and re-
Throughout my life I have seen,
WITHOUT ONE EXCEPTION, NARROW-SHOULDERED
MEN PERFORMING INNUMERABLE IDIOTIC ACTS,
BRUTALIZING THEIR FELLOWS, AND CORRUPTING
SOULS BY EVERY MEANS. The MOTIVE FOR THEIR
ACTIONS THEY CALL GLORY. SEEING THESE EXHI-
BITIONS I've longed to laugh, with the rest,
but that strange imitation was impossible.
Taking a penknife with a sharp-edged blade,
i slit the flesh at the points joining the
lips. For an instant I believed my aim was
ACHIEVED. I SAW IN A MIRROR THE MOUTH RU-
INED AT MY OWN WILL! An ERROR! BESIDES, THE
blood gushing freely from the two wounds
prevented my distinguishing whether this
really was the grin of others. but after
some moments of comparison i saw quite
clearlythat my smile did not resemble that
of humans: the fact is, i was not laughing.
- Lautreamont, Maldoror
the major players
theboybeenhadinhead, Skits, Narration, Art Design.
Aweful/ Awe/ Awed, Skits, Guitar, Editing 6c Recording, Art Design.
Musical Score, Sampling, Arrangements
Mastering, Quality Control, Set Design, Lighting.
Ensemble, Emotional Support
Cello, Meditation Specialist, Devil's Advocate.
Scientist A- Optical Experimenteur
Th e 1 %v/oA2 n d
thee anomalous NPS
Terence McKenna, John Cleese
Lautreamont: Les Chants de Maldoror; Poesies
McKenna, Terence: Food of the Gods; True Hallucinations; The Archaic Revival
Merleau-Ponty, Maurice: Phenomenology of Perception
Powell, A.E.: The Etheric Double — The Health Aura of Man
Nietzsche, Friedrich: The Genealogy of Morals
Stafford, Peter: Psychedelics Encyclopedia
Straussman M.D., Rick: DMT: The Spirit Molecule
&fthee anomalous NPS recommends www.tallcans.org
ORAL PHALLIC SMILES
Astral Glottal Projection: Put the penknife to your mouth
and start at the mandibles; make yourself a mimic and an
image of mockery; call yourself a convert and a conscious
apostrophe; bend your brain around the basic limits of
Put the penknife to your mouth.
Aweful: If my mother's pelvis was a few inches slimmer I
woulda' got stuck in the vulvular discharge; a simultaneous
birth of movement and death in inertia. When the doc-
tors pulled out the forceps to grasp my skull their glisten-
ing forfexes woulda prefigured my cranium, kinda' like an
eggshell; an impression in anticipation of headphones. The
car seats and the braces were a constant reminder of the
aching in my bones and the fact that shoulders never met
at exactly the same height. So if you wanna' talk about a
fuckin phallic symbol, put your fingers down your throat
in the middle of the ocean. Surround yourself by cameras
and news reporters linked to the brains of every television
set and press pause. The vomit from your sternum projects
a new appendage.
theboybeenheadinhead: I made a new will today, to capture
the light I see and sell it for batteries. Full power to foot-
steps up, on, and over the bottlenecked view, where my eyes
stop wandering, wondering whether I see the sun setting or
not. I know the sun and I have seen its rot! The cool on my
hands dimmer, hairs on my spine shimmer —suckling mind-
melding forethought- better count my possessions and posi-
tion myself to become formidable with the stars. My fa-
vorite fiction is loose Norse myth, but my beard's not long
enough to comb with just one fist -I must have missed the
page that pointed the blame, I must have cinched my lips at
the illusion of fame- a new will to imbibe what I own and
offer bits of sarcophagus to the people I have known. My
collections go for this: my fake siblings receive the gifts of
a narcoleptic brain and blank space to match it up with...
In print, in self, in fruitful fire, in depths, in bliss, in blame...
something on the Valkyries. Spray painted symbols of it,
and, but, because. . .1 blame something on the Valkyries.
HO WMANY TICKETS FOR
THE ABYSS RIDEL...
sublingual, subliminal vocalization
V/ouj wany tidfc&ts -fot t/7& aAyss tid&?
I wanted to get on before I get off. How many people are able
to construct a compass formed from their own hands? How
many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie-roll
pop? V/olo wany tic^^ets -Pot the a&yss hide. ? I
wanted to get on before I get off.
theboy: I've wanted to get off for just so long with time
enough to ease erasure at the seams with my asshole all out
as I kiester the world giving the ground a first impression
like a stinkpalm on a hated ex-classmate at a convention
center reunion too many decibels for full thought. . .1 blame
it all on before the brownnote blows my bowels to blasphe-
my, god has to shit too how else do you explain hail? [He's
a cold motherfucker to let that shit suffer his anus too.]
V/olo wany ti^ets -for- the aAyss tide?
My infatuation with the unknown is making me lose
thought as I abruptly leave a landslide as it builds me a new
home. Come to think I'd leave a letter omitting my love for
destruction on the bank of an urban flood. What a natu-
ral disaster I've become form from fingernail and thumb,
a disease, as I beckon the gods to give me the air that I
heave so that I spit when I talk to promote said blasphem-
theboy: Form from tutelage to exchanged hums
Aweful: Form from greenink bled gums
theboy: Form from millionaires on the run
Aweful: Form from spitting seeds in the sun
theboy: Form from getting off what is on
Aweful: Form from fractal frivolitry
theboy: Mammalbug biology
Aweful: Explosive etymology
theboy: Form from spittle on a table spilling juices acidic
and able to withstand a warmhand master searing cattle
brands on womanish labias so are children form from
lava, tissue now molten from formed solders.
V/cduj /y?any tid^&ts -for- t/i& aAyss tid<°?
Cause I cant conjure what I mind mine anymore than
dead growth with no sunshine, relieving nerve ticks a
flesh combine. Tearing lips and teeth no warning a bodi-
ly stop sign. Telling me when to push and pull and when
to resign, form from legacy, form from my own time.
From forming legacy, form from my own time.
Aweful: So how now am I proposed to live without the
soft glow comfort of my W.O.W. (World Of Warcraft)?
All my internet friends will have to find a way to carry
on without my digital presence in the lands of loosely
based Norse-myth-magic-melee. Feel the silent ticking
humming pinching caresses of my electro-powered ner-
vous system body gone phantom. My main-course nu-
tritionals viz. a viz. high-fructose gelatinated partially
hydrogenated factory refined American-bred potluck
preserves are now absent. Now the questions: what's to
occupy the in-between hours. Silence, breath, light bulb
flicker, sun shadow, moon melancholy. Hell, I even left
the front door askew hoping for a break-in to break up
the monotone drawl of my two back mandibles. Now, of
course, "The belly rules the mind" as I'm left without a
scrap to eat and there seems to be these little chunks of ash-
es coming from the sky, covering the street. In fact, the only
thing left seems to be this cow pie that was stuck behind the
fridge, which I placed upon the window sill, and that too ap-
pears to be gathering whatever it is that descends upon this
city like manna from heaven. . . except Moses probably never
saw fungus like this.
A WEFUL, A WE, A WED
Astral Glottal Projection: Aweful, Awe, Awed! open your
eyes; open your mind, theboybeenhad, beenhadinhead.
jellyfish: There's no timeline, just a plenum lately, fractals di-
lating infinitely, coming to actuate potential baby, solipsistic
fungal masticating, past and present, future filter function,
sized symmetrical bilaterally, feeling fricative and vibratory,
coming to terms with an inner comet, I'm gonna make their
fucking sternums vomit.
J D ONT DREAM ANYMORE,
AND IF I DID I CERTAINLY
WOULDN'T TELL YOU
theboy: I'm through being precarious, like a night with no
prom date, a mass infiltration taking aim on my surround-
ings. Cleaning spoons for proper ingestion, sharpening
knives so the metal don't get too lonely. I'll handle these
profusions, undulations from my lungs, a little infectious
the gummy breath I become, from sleeping too hard with a
long long pocket. This overall matches overall, it's my live-
lihood as an artist never to misplace my dreams but I don't
dream, no lucidity, no journal entry formats. Just knotted
dawn, clumpy down, making my eardrum buildup, a whole
percussive sentence making a symphony in my head. . .
Awe: Fuck dead people that are living in coffins, surround-
ing themselves with wood too often, making it hard for
nutritional substance to be absorbed in a cyclical process.
I'm talking about the roots of the kid-berry tree on the far
West side of the Woodland City Cemetery after the
dusk descends and sends a sense of life laid longing on
the floor -bored- with life that spends its ends late long-
ing for solutions to the problems made up from inter-
nal pent up and dumb stuff withheld due to living in the
midst of walled cities, erected and made to protect oneself
from a death that breathes the best chance and opportune
tune to penetrate a state that consciousness cannot pre-
tend to comprehend: bend the boundaries of light and
sound; vibrate your face; make your head spin round.
Anthropomorphism is not a problem; anthropocentrism
is your disease. I'm pro-sitting by myself for long sec-
tions, alarm-clock-baited solitary inspections, realizing
that it's my time by the nature: examination of my stoic
upright stature. Sensations generated spontaneously, my
life-force vibrating bilaterally. Peoples never expect to
see themselves represented in the mirror of the universe,
'cause the mirror they reflect first is an image of an im-
age reflected to their own eyes back and you see that they
gonna try and derive what makes a dream make meaning
cause it makes you sick. And you're going to ingest your
best fuck- face smiling at yourself in the bathroom mirror
every morning cause you drank yourself to sleep in order
not to dream anymore, 'cause you don V wanna' 'dream any-
more, 'cause you wouldn't wanna' dream anymore. Even if
you could, you wouldn't want to. That's why I say that: I
am THE habit, I am THE addict.
theboy: I'm dozing and stalking a misprint on a head-
stone read "died here to be later". A future of pos-
sible meaning foretold, the stupid regenerating engine of
live despair. I walk down the street and become undone,
just one losing grip on a pore strip. I'm plucked out on a
cloudy day, anvils falling from the sky, naked in a dream
where I'm sure I will die, and reason why the skillet holds
charred human feeling. The fridge in the kitchen leak-
ing carved fleshy peelings. Double dealing, over speak-
ing, stealing -bits of burnt muzzle bone hints of hurt loaded
gloves- my mercury fillings turn to gold when I'm bleed-
ing. A novice, still stealing for someone he don't know; the
harassing fashion of coins dropping ad infinitum. Slow
down and quote this so you get me verbatim; the subsonic
massacre of sounds still vibrating:
anthropocentric inanimate objects,
chromatophore gardens of earthly delight.
Pagans hot rendering all of art's fatty portions boiling
away all sufficient self feeling. Selling it back to the caller,
double priced for the leg work. They're drawing me closer
building momentum, breaking the skin and throwing a
tantrum, something about this is an imaginary gun seeth-
ing gritty gums from coming on the run, breaking the
skin and throwing a tantrum.
Slow down and quote this so you get me verbatim.
ROOTS CREATE NATURAL
theboy: Roots create natural stairwells... I never read the
Silmarillion but I'm cultured enough to know that Amer-
ican cheese isn't any cheese at all, its cheese food product.
Cut up in slivers by cafeteria Vaders, binging Maddog
by the TV with a mysterious broken watch. I traded my
snowboard for a twelve-string that I don't know how to
tune, so now when I express myself everyone leaves the
room except me with this conscience and my shoes all
wet. Detect an asterisk, when are you planning to pop
the pills? Detect an asterisk, never directly mention your
ills... Roots create natural stairwells... It's the marathon
of the Ents running this monotone box, confusion pro-
ducing the ID of this tired synthesis, why does my edu-
cation look like my Mission from fourth grade ceramics?
Dropped that shit on the doorstep and laughed without
a match, had this friend get fat, get fat, then skinny, then
fat again when the Dianetics failed him. I told him Bat-
tlefield Earth sucked proverbial dick.
I got this ground that don't fit, my fucking imagination
accelerating at the fucking site of this, all over my body
blood is boiling a bumpy epidermis, Valhalla I am com-
ing I should have never clenched a fist, my chosen direc-
tion is more than some perverse spontaneous. The rain's
been coming the jellyfish showing the void and this boy
become one. blackhole, byebye, dark matter head games
all imploding in lieu of the sun. Soon enough the relative
matter of life on this earth will be done. Hallucination
language, shedding my clothes not my cape, Awed's to
Jellyfish: Watch your vitamins, it's Ritalin,
head kid, you beenhadinhead boy
theboy: I want to have exploding sex with myself. I want
to imagine me with lust for life bleeding. From pustules of
loving one another to handjobs, in this yard, I'll blow up
to bits in a surrealistic fit, to better myself as a lover and
dawn a new cape. A shedding of reason to mince-make
my mind a minion. For syllable rhythm that defies this
timescape. That breaks a new crack in the street where I
sleep. So I can swim in this ugh-huh world of concrete, a
ghost in a sheet. Poking three holes. One for my third eye,
two for my genitalia.
So I can hair spit my mouth spit out
No timid tongue to turn a word tantrum; no smoking gun
to blame the whole mess on. Turning tricks for contem-
porary physics; in becoming one, I flew the coup and I'm
Awe: Deep underneath and slow from your tongue; deep
style, deep cut, deep pattern unsung. Don't be convinced
until you have seen, up through the flower and down
through the leaves; energy move betwixt you and me.
There in my mind and there in the sky, look into a mir-
ror and through both my eye. Therein below the depths
you might find, a ship on a sea of light and good sound.
The world is a plenum; the Earth is not round. All that
exists exists just for me. Without a body-schema I can-
not see. Were not I "here" there would be no "there."
Dasein's the being whose Being is to Care. Eyebrow to
navel, lumbar to hairline: closing my eyes, I trace out a
dream-line. Comets on fire explore my intention; knew
this before but paid no attention. Vision divides itself
into quadrants; I am a rainbow split into concepts, inex-
tricably connected to the rest of this vibratory fricative
zone. I can feel that hard-spinning center of intention,
the barbed sphere of motive and perception. It's as if I've
opened a portal, no longer am I just a mere mortal. Now
I'm on a pinpoint losing my balance; eyes turning black
- to live without malice.
FRICATIVE FIELDS, VARI-
O USLY ENTWINED
theboy: The gum spots on the sidewalk are like sun spots.
Like a mental block or the Moon's rot, weird robots in
slow motion. Moving pictures on wide film. Millime-
ters of space in a showroom. The flashing light tinkering
tools making more room for the new old news about
counter space on a chopping block. I'm runnin rot in
a spore print -everlasting life from the underground,
heartbeat now making a vocal round. Holy hell-a trees
growing inside of me, my whole life made up of memo-
ries -shaved off the wrong way on the grain ride, sing-
ing down to catch Awe on the flip side- whatever's
happened is done to re-do again, and I'm light-years
closer to language. Fricative floor breaks so furiously,
calm entelechies caught psychedelically. A jellyfish been
growing inside of me, my whole life made up in memo-
ries. Hallucinogens finding their way out of organ, with
wide-eyed wonder I'm born, I'm a born-again Pagan.
Awe: instructions- left foot: memories of childhood my
mother making me a man and machines marching over
land like; right foot: finding first love in the eyes of for-
eign reign and previously only other animal-based; low
core: intuitive response to correlate with what I find
behind the void of others shimmering; chest plate: is
not but an appendage, just a chute to verify intent; so
project, enact effect; left palm: a receptacle for forces
functioning in aether-realms like the mind waves and
solar-pranic particles; right palm: I bestow upon the
beings of the physical a loving kindness as directed by
the wisdom of my third eye: my intellect a web sent
out to intersect the astral-plane from which I project
my time spectrum; repeat: Malleable descends on me
and sends a streamer through the system that supports
a certain solar self.
theboy: Fricative fields, variously entwined. Full-up with
fiction off of forms from euphoria. It's the flicker-fusion
frequency of organistic time vision exceeded. Whatev-
er's happened is done to re-do again, and I'm light-years
closer to language. Hand prints in dried cement mark
where my bones lay dry. Some such a phantom film the
haunted and the holy -Aetheric doubles and white men
with money to witness exuding energy patterns from gu-
rus in Las Vegas.
jellyfish: Never heard what you seen, never seen what you
heard. Under finger nails alter substance you project to
theboy: Anxiously lost in the angles of sharp slanted cities.
Chromosomes making all the white people's poisonous
faking-out dull minds with bright lights and bug zappers.
A message for all those who trespass on a good mood: as
a prophet I've drowned more in puddles and broke bread.
Abstraction: die on the cross and get laughed at. Distrac-
tion: give fuel to the hordes and dark lords and describe
the stories that are set before me: omniscient raw pho-
netics in the shape of divinity.
Awe: Hypothetical Syllogism: The business of Being is
Isness. What is the business of Isness? Issness's business
theboy: Bodily functions fucking up because of the way
that I'm struck. I've never done the dust but I know ev-
ery soul just must. Reaching your third eye's not all in
the wrist, no no. It takes a malleable mind and a red
cape by the way that I'm shown. First and only experi-
ence with the Jellyfish, new constellation known.
Eat this cap to grow taller these spores to grow smaller,
expand through a pinhole.
Awe: Time is just a concept, Time is not the Answer,
Time is what I invent in the Tropic Cancer.
theboy: I imbibe the question, I excrete the answer, I
become the object, the body- mind ascender.
Awe: My comet's a real astronomer I let loose on the
far-away stars to ingest, to find that. . .
theboy: ...phenomena's not
phenomena lest you vomit a Arm through the hole in
your chest to see that...
Awe: . . . the universe, like a chilling curse,
is a macrocosmic instance of my own imagination...
ping out of linear ubiquitous narration. . .
Awe: ...connecting with a psychedelic jellyfish space
A Riddle: What is it which exists betwixt six
organs which admit and invent a value in vor-
tex, a foreground of percepts, a force field of forceps?
An Answer: A comet so compact its con-
tact is constant with Time as an advent, the fu-
ture and past-tense collide into context: a Pres-
ent presented in presence of plenitude, dude.
Awe: I've become one with a star-cloned body, a mallea-
ble mimicry which perpetually beckons me to step up, step
out, step into and through to the Manifold Mobius, the
literal lateral lattice-work I construct in becoming Here-
And-Now: to that kid in the cloud, the boy in the bubble,
and the astral-born jellyfish pumping spore-organ.
TIAN CRYPTO GRAPHY
In that all this has its Self; it is the True; it is
the Self; thou art that.
-Chandogya, Upanishad VI.viii.7
Awe: Ode to my chest-hook: "thou art that." I wouldst
entwine my chest-hook with thine, I'm done with the
light, blackhole's in sight.
theboy: Mother Matrix Most Mysterious is a massive
miraculous manna, the all encompassing explosions of
awesome abyss. Merging mind and matter making a
monstrous mother chip. An astonishing mother ship,
the second coming of human intelligence. Currently
the stars are all light-bright full fixated patterns of our
man without a flashlight. Sounds are all absent from
the ecstasy you see. Awed now an organ for generations
to swim in, create with their own will, make with their
own myth. Lilliputian energy now finds infinity, reality
translated mythological cryptography, lilliputian deities
experiencing ecstasy. THE Mother Matrix Most Mys-
terious prepare me a crown, a solar halo corona, I'm
done with the dark, dwarf star's in sight, I turn to the
light, make Malleable ignite.
Awe: I want to feel that sternum pull. My guilty con-
science is a phantom just like the unspeakable "some-
thing" and "what if it happens?" Just like genealogical
timelines are emanated from lawn patterns, our hab-
its and appetitive functions are a geometrical repeater-
pattern from a center point that only knows how to eat
itself. We radiate out but relative to in, which is in only
as related to out. Then bang "something" happens and
all of the sudden "before hand" is stupid, it's a micro-
scopic view of an amputated limb; the entire body is
forever "now" without identifiable "this" or "that"; all we
. T.^. *
M M U
1 |] |y
know is that we are it, and we cant point or reference any
piece without cutting it all to bits. Ode to my chest-hook:
"thou art that." I wouldst entwine my chest-hook with
thine. I'm done with the light, blackhole's in sight, I turn
to myself and make Malleable ignite.
theboy and jellyfish: Yon black hole has widened up, lets
you see you're possible, illogical, eternal... lets you see
you're fallible. Malleable, dry your eyes. Can't you see you
are the whole? Malleable, dry your eyes. Come and see
yourself in full.
Awe: There's so many ways for you to not be what you are
that being what you're being's turning into not at all. So
if I am nothing, and I know that I am nothing, do I know
myself or am I just talking in circles? A first-person/third-
ubiquitous narration: the breaking of betterment of bit-
ter men, embodiment of master-morality is: Malleable's
malady makes a man into money. I want to drop objects
from outer space, and get sucked up in the belly of a jel-
lyfish: the blackhole space maker, the gamma ray origina-
tor; dirempted, divided, try to define disillusionment.
theboy: Ataxic limbs bending back to outer space. Rare rock
paintings inject my mind with latifimdia. Aeons, Eons,
Neurons, plant genitals I'm plucking out. Soft ingested
fragments of holistic mind body melt. [Cowering corner
face I'm presenting to outer space, collective consciousness
nearly imbedded in death.]
Malleable: You posit the neumena as "being" what's outside
of us: a meaningless mistake on behalf of your metaphysics,
pedagogical annihilation of imagination.
INTRAVASCULAR DAILY INJECTION OF ALIENATION,
theboy: What is it about blackholes that shifts the water in
mycortex causing mood swings and temperate loins, a pubic
rainforest on a ringedpillplanet - which exists a reach from
your local church, through the ashes at the temple I burned
for modern art. Rain won't fall without the fodder in clouds,
cults won't die without several packages of Styrofoam cups
and so if I go without the roots that I know, is a blackhole
still so gloomy or a ride you can't afford?